How We Met
We met on a Sunday morning at a bookshop that smelled of old paper and Earl Grey. Cassian was standing in the poetry aisle looking entirely unconvinced by Keats. Aurelia handed him Neruda instead. He read it on the spot. She pretended not to watch.
Three years and two continents later, here we are — still arguing about books, still choosing each other every single morning. Come celebrate with us.